


Until I Wake Up

by twobirdsonesong



Category: CrissColfer - Fandom, Glee RPF
Genre: Complicated Relationships, Drabble, Fluff, Halloween, Halloween Costumes, Hangover, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-01
Updated: 2015-11-01
Packaged: 2018-04-29 10:07:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5123621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twobirdsonesong/pseuds/twobirdsonesong
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Darren can’t quite remember what he did for Halloween, but Chris can.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Until I Wake Up

When Darren wakes up, his mouth tastes like dirty socks, his head feels like it’s clamped tight in a vice, and his entire body hurts.  Hungover then.  He blinks sawdust from his eyes and tries to sit up, only to end up groaning loudly as every vertebra in his back pops and cracks and realigns under protest.

 

He’s on his couch.  He’s mostly on his couch.  However he collapsed last night left him in an ungainly heap with at least one leg dangling down to the floor.  His eyes feel gritty and gummy, one slow blink away from getting stuck together again, and Darren rubs at them with the palms of his hands to try and clear them.

 

“Ah shitfuck,” he groans as sharper pains scratch at his eyes and his skin. He looks down at his hands. His palms are streaked in shades of pink, blue, and white makeup, with glitter smeared everywhere. “Wha--?”

  
Darren looks down at himself.  He’s wearing fishnet stockings, torn now at the inner thighs and knees, black spandex shorts riding all the way up the crease of his thighs, and an unlaced leather corset.  Darren frowns, confused. This is definitely not what he was wearing to the party last night.  Either of them.

 

Now that he’s awake, he’s cold.  He must not have turned on the heat when he got home.  He remembers stumbling in from the last Halloween party late, drunk, and flushed.  He sweats when he drinks, and he imagines he thought being colder was the better option. Darren goes to rub his aching forehead and too late remembers about the glitter on his hands before he smears more of it across his face.

 

“Goddamnit.”

 

His laptop is on the coffee table, open, but the screen is black, and his phone is on the floor.  He leans down and snatches at the phone, groaning as his headache flairs sharply at the movement. One familiar gold boot is wedged under the table and it makes Darren snort.

 

His phone shows a dozen new texts, but only one he cares about.  From Chris.

 

**I’m still here.**

 

Darren frowns at the message and looks around his living room.  He knows he was alone last night; Chris is in Los Angeles and Darren would have known if he somehow brought Chris home. And his house is quiet besides. He looks again at his laptop, strangely open like he left it there intending to come back to it, but never did. Except he did wake up on the couch with one hell of a hangover and very scattered memories.

  
Darren reaches out to tap at the track pad, uncaring of the makeup and glitter on his fingers.  The screen flashes brightly awake and Darren had to look away for a moment. To his surprise, Skype is open on his laptop and what the camera is showing him is intimately familiar.

 

It’s Chris’ living room, or part of it.  Darren can see Chris’ ugly couch, beige walls, and the edges of some picture frames.  Darren frowns. Usually when he sees this it’s with Chris in the middle of the image, seated on that couch, looking at him fondly through the screen.

 

“Chris?” He says, but there’s no response. He has no idea what time it is. There’s filmy grey light peaking out from behind his curtains, but it could be anywhere between dawn and 3pm this time of year in New York.  “Chris?” He calls out louder.

 

“Hey one second!” Comes the response.  Chris’ voice is tinny and far away, but he’s there.

 

Darren sits up a little straighter.  He’s a mess and he knows it.  Glitter all over, ripped fishnets he doesn’t remember putting on, and the hard taste of old tequila coating his tongue.  When he puts his fingers in his hair to assess the damage, the curls feel hard and tacky, encased in gel.  Darren grimaces.

 

Just then a figure comes into the screen, hastily plopping down on the couch, and Darren smiles instinctively.

 

Chris looks a thousand times better than Darren feels, wearing pajama pants and a dark t-shirt than fits him well around the chest.  His glasses are perched on his nose and his hair is tousled, like he hasn’t washed it in a day or two.  Darren’s heart flutters happily and his headache takes a step back.

 

“Morning,” Chris chirps.  He looks amused at the sight of him and Darren really can’t blame him.

 

“Is it?” Darren quips. The time on his laptop reads 11:34am.  Not as late as he thought it might be.

 

“Well, it is for me.”

 

“You’re chipper for 8 in the morning after Halloween,” Darren says.  He shifts on the couch, pulling his legs up underneath himself, and he hears the fishnet rip even more.  He can see himself in the little square screen in the corner, and he looks a mess.  Vivid pink at his cheekbones.  Blue around his eyes smeared and messy.  Mascara nowhere near his lashes anymore.  His lips are still red through, mostly, and Darren is sure he left a horrid amount of makeup on his poor couch.  The corset is the most ridiculous of all, hanging open and exposing his chest hair.   He’d be self-conscious, but it’s Chris.

 

“Daylight savings,” Chris shrugs.  “Got that extra hour of sleep.”

 

“Late night?”  Darren asks with a little spike of jealousy sharp behind his eyes.

 

Chris laughs, shaking his head.  “You mean sitting here watching you dance for an hour?”

 

Darren frowns. “What?”

 

“You called me at like, 2 in the morning and demanded to show me something,” Chris tells him, delight brightening his voice.  “You were drunk off your ass and wanted to dance. But only with me. And since I’m here and you’re there…”

 

Darren snorts. Knowing himself as he does, he’s not entirely surprised.  “This is not what I was wearing last night.”  He remembers his other costume well enough and it was not this.

 

“You said you wanted to be Hedwig for me,” Chris says, and his voice has dropped a little deeper.

 

“Hedwig doesn’t wear a corset.”

 

Chris smiles, all teeth and crinkly eyes.  “You changed your mind halfway in and decided on Dr. Frank-N-Furter.”

 

“I do not remember that.”

 

“It happened.”

 

Darren touches the laces of the corset.  “I didn’t even know I _owned_ a corset.”

 

“I didn’t either.  It looked good though.”

 

“Hope I gave you a good show,” Darren says.  He has a sudden flash of himself dancing around his living room with surprising grace for someone so drunk.

 

Chris laughs again.  “Oh, you did. Be grateful I didn’t record it. _Wig in a Box_ I think was my favorite.  You were very into it.”

 

“I didn’t have the wig though.”

 

“Sadly not.”

 

“Next time.”

 

Chris reaches out then and touches his fingers to the screen.  “You look like you need a shower and some food.”

 

Darren nods and presses his own fingertips to the image of Chris’ as his heart flutters again. He’s pretty sure glitter has made its way down to his balls where it is unwanted.  “I really do.  You’ll still be here when I get back?”

 

“Of course.” Chris grabs something off his coffee table and waves it in front of the screen.  “I brought a book.  Wasn’t sure how late you’d stay passed out.”

 

Darren grins.  “Back in a sec.”

 

He pushes himself unsteadily to his feet and takes a moment to get his bearings. He doesn’t notice that his barely covered crotch is perfectly framed in the Skype screen until he hears Chris wolf-whistle.

 

“Hey! The show’s over,” he jokingly scolds and laughs as Chris exaggerates a frown.

 

Darren starts to lumber in the general direction of the bathroom when he hears Chris calling out after him:

 

“Hate to see you leave, but when you leave I love to watch you go!”


End file.
